


he runs, through green

by kinpika



Series: signed, sealed, delivered [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Before the culmination of events, F/M, Lingering Romantic Feelings, Sometime in '98, a bit of tension, sprinkle of drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “Bill… dad…” he starts, except Bill cuts him off.“What did Charlie Weasley ask me on the day of my wedding?”





	he runs, through green

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [in red, she walks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761247)

Charlie knew that he was being stupid, but that wasn’t a first for him. 

It had been the fear. The cold fear, running down his back, that made him leap. Throw himself at the air, focusing on the pinpoint location. _Urquhart Manor,_ far in the Irish hills. Charlie knew he should have made a plan, perhaps brought someone else along just to be sure. Except the little runic stone had started to burn so fiercely in his pocket, that he hadn’t really had much in the way of thought after. Just ran, headfirst into the rain, while his mother screamed for him.

And he hits the ground running, almost going ass over tit in the muddy grass. Catches himself, tries to get the blood to stop pumping so loudly through his ears. One of the nearby statues of a great winged horse manages to keep him upright. Through the pale moonlight, it’s then that Charlie notes an odd streak across the backside of the statue. He wasn’t going to deny it made his stomach drop, as he pulled his hand away to see a dark, sticky substance. Only then did he notice just how quiet it truly was. 

Gingerly, wand ready, Charlie walks forward. Front doors still firmly shut, no outward signs there was a struggle. But he knew this house, this _home_. Had visited it on more than one occasion, but the stories Natasha spun alone spoke of just how lively it was, no matter the time of day. Not a single light was on, and neither was a single Sainglen grazing without a care for their masters.

Charlie grips the stone in his left hand, holding it close. Trying to get a message through. Yet it had gone remarkably cold, unresponsive. A simple flash, and he didn’t want to think of what that might’ve meant. Finally, he reaches the front door, fiddling with it open. 

It wasn’t locked.

No alarms, just the quiet. The suffocating, endless quiet. Even the waves seemed to have stilled, no longer slapping the edge of the great cliff just beyond the property. Charlie may not have been a Seer, but he would admit to recognising a bad feeling when it came and shot red sparks across the room, barely missing his face. 

“ _Protego!”_

With a whip, he catches the next onslaught. But it’s harder than he remembered. Granted, the last time he had come across a Death Eater properly, it had been him and Natasha — and even then, they had barely managed to get him to run away. Even at the Burrow, he had grabbed who he could, telling them to run, while they stalled their attackers. 

Except now, Charlie could not pinpoint just where his attackers were firing from. How many there were. Sweat was beading down the back of his neck, as he barely sidesteps another curse. It makes a horrific screeching noise as it passes, almost taking his full attention. Something catches him, left arm, stone drops.

“CHARLIE!”

There, middle of the great staircase. Natasha was held, wand against her throat. A great hulking beast of a man was behind her, a shove in her back to force her down the stairs, one step at a time. Charlie knew then, to yield. Raises his hands, wand in the air, no tricks. Eyes only on Natasha, and how, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks, her jaw was set. She was planning something, he could tell, just couldn’t figure out what it was.

From his left and right, two other people emerge, hiding behind their masks. Something about how he needed to get down, but Charlie refused to budge. They kick him, back of the knee. Charlie doesn’t mean to crumble the way he does, but he meets the ground hard, still tender from the Apparition. Wand kicked from his hand, and watches as the other goes to bend, picking up his stone.

Rolling it over in their hand, they must have recognised it for what it was. “This how you were communicating?” Holds it out in front of Charlie’s face, waving it there. “Huh?!” A blinding amount of pain shoots up his jaw, as they punch him cleanly downwards. All he does is spit the blood out in front of him, and continue to hold his gaze. Don’t give them an inch, he tells himself. Don’t let them see how terrified you are. 

“You don’t need to hurt him.” Natasha’s voice rings clear. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

“Except… you didn’t, did you?” Finally, the one holding Natasha speaks, spinning her around. Whilst his wand was still pointed towards her, with the hand now free, he brandished what looked to be the matching stone to Charlie’s. “What is this?”

Without missing a beat, she answers: “A good luck charm.”

Any other time, Charlie may have laughed at the rather condescending look the Death Eater gave her, except that it was followed with a slow, cracking noise. In his hand, the stone broke up, pieces gradually getting smaller and smaller, the only sound to fill the great entryway, until all that was left was tiny grains of dust. Tipping his hand over, a plume of what was once their means of connection fell to her feet, and he spoke once more.

“We will be back again, Natasha, for Corvus. And it had better only be _him_ walking through that door.”

And then, it was over. With a snap that thundered, all three Death Eaters disappeared. Only then did the lights finally turn on, as if shifting reality itself. Charlie finally saw what had been hiding, and just how damaged the manor now was. Paintings torn, glass shattered. Stone and wood were spread, and he did not linger on the splattering of blood. Natasha seemed to let herself drop, sitting on the steps, head in her hands. With a great heaving sob, followed by another, and one more, Natasha fell silent. 

Stepping through the worst of the damage, picking up his wand on the way, Charlie climbs the stairs. Two down from her, he falls to a crouch, and could find that a hand on her shoulder was the best he could do. “What happened?” he asked carefully. Behind her, where a great window opened out onto the sprawling lands, was nothing. Charlie could only assume that the glass had been blast out into the floor below. 

Silence follows, almost uncomfortably. Until, finally. “They came for my grandfather,” she speaks, slowly and measured. “Promised them horses. 

“His dad, Cahir, — my great-grandfather — barely managed to find out in time. Evacuated _everyone_. Had to practically shove them all out into the Network, except it got cut off just as I was about to go in.”

Natasha inhales deeply, lifting her head then. Staring out the broken window, seeing something Charlie didn’t. “I panicked, when they broke in. Called for you. I’m sorry… you’ve got your own family to worry about.”

Tears, big and fat, began to roll down her cheeks. Lower lip wobbling, Natasha looked like she was fighting the urge to cry, and losing. “Nat,” Charlie can only sigh. She’d given him stuff to think over, of course. Probably more than he was used to. But all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms — and so he did. 

“I’m sorry!” she sobs, nails digging into the arm of his jacket. “I thought they would—that they—”

Charlie doesn’t think about how his hands hadn’t quite stopped shaking. Doesn’t focus on his stomach hadn’t unclenched. That the world was still sitting at an axis unfamiliar, and that Charlie just presses his forehead against hers, squeezes his eyes shut, and doesn’t think that he might have greeted Death only moments before. Arms holding Natasha tighter still, feeling how gradually her body stopped shaking as her breathing evened out, Charlie lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“We should probably leave,” he murmurs, not wanting to open his eyes. Not wanting to see the destruction, not yet. Charlie knew he could’ve been just a simple piece in the grand puzzle of it all. 

Natasha hums, perhaps some agreement, but nothing in the way of commitment. “Do you want to grab a bag?” is all he asks, and she shakes her head against his. Neither of them were willing to move. 

Without counting the exact seconds, only finally does Natasha turn, to point her wand at the great window. “ _Reparo_ ,” she whispers, and the pieces seemed to glide from the grass below. Charlie takes her by the hand, then. Thinks of the seaside, the rain. Shell Cottage, he almost commands to himself. Repeats it over and over. Tries to ignore how his stomach lurches, as Natasha grips his hand, nails digging into his skin.

Where Urquhart Manor had been still, Shell Cottage was fierce. Winds beating against their faces, rain drenching them before they had time to open their eyes. Charlie holds his wand up, a thin umbrella forming from the end, as a weak attempt to protect them from the worst of the weather. He watches closely as water continues to run down Natasha’s face, not questioning when he notices that tears mingled in too.

Beams of light reach them, then. This he had expected, and Charlie looks upwards into the rather harried faces of Bill, Fred and Arthur. Three of them, wands raised. It’s then that Charlie realised he didn’t know what the time quite was.

“Bill… dad…” he starts, except Bill cuts him off. 

“What did Charlie Weasley ask me on the day of my wedding?” There’s no threat to his voice, but Charlie knew better. Weight in his words, one part for security, one part for accepting, now or never.

Out the corner of his eye, Charlie sees Natasha looking at him then, eyebrows drawn together in the middle. Swallowing thickly, he speaks slowly, strongly, over the howling winds. “I asked for Bill Weasley’s permission to marry Natasha Rhodes.” Holds only Bill’s gaze as he answers, waiting for the last word to drop. Natasha tense visibly next to him, her hold on his hand far too tight, bordering on painful. Charlie only squeezed back, with a quick flick of eyes over how his brother and father also took the admission.

A muscle in Bill’s jaw tightens, as if he was about to do something he was going to regret. Wand turning on Natasha, the light still emitting seemed to highlight just how tired she was, how swollen her eyes were. How Charlie now noticed that her hair was clumping on the side of her head, dark streams of red running down. 

“What did Natasha Rhodes and I promise?” 

“Bill…” Natasha looked uncomfortable, uncertain. Like she had cried everything out, and yet there was a threat for one last tear. “Don’t make me say it.”

His wand glows, louder, brighter, as he seems to push further down. Charlie realised then, that Bill was afraid, this person was an imposter. And, it hadn’t occurred to Charlie that was possible at all. “What did we promise, Nat?”

Natasha shouts, as she shoves Bill’s wand out of her face: “We never made it to thirty together!”

It was his turn to look stunned, as his brain tried to put the sentence together. Of course he had read enough books in the past, and heard more than enough discussions, where passing phrases had been used. But the more he thought about it, the more he was taken aback. Charlie could only stare up at his older brother, in a mild sort of wonder, and think ‘what does she mean?’

“Come on.” Bill was quiet now. Grabbing Natasha by the arm, pulling her to her feet.

Charlie is slow to follow, until Fred is the one helping him. Rushing inside, already pointing wands at themselves to dry off. A threat of a cold was imminent, even as Molly threw her arms around him, scolding him relentlessly. He’s made to sit in front of a roaring fire, Natasha swaddled and beside him, hot chocolate shoved into their hands. Finally, Charlie looks at the clock. It was nearly seven in the morning.

Despite the ruckus they had caused, only Bill was the one to stay up with them. Charlie didn’t know how that made him truly feel, as he couldn’t find it in him to drink. For her part, Natasha remained quiet, sipping slowly at her drink. The only noise in the cottage was the sound of the sea, and the ticking of the clock.

With an inhale, Natasha opens her mouth to speak. “You were going to ask me to marry—”

Except, Charlie cuts her off, unable to stop himself. “You two made a promise to marry each other?” All he could do was stare at his drink. The fire. The clock. Not them, neither of them. It felt a little surreal, like he was experiencing Hogwarts all over again. Losing out to Bill once more. Even as Charlie had carved his own path, there Bill had still been. Pathetic, perhaps it was, to think of it in such a way. Except, it seemed, that was Bill and Natasha’s best kept secret.

“I was like, _twelve_ , Charlie—”

“—It was a joke, mate—”

“—after Bill got dumped by that Emily girl!”

Charlie had heard the name, seen the girl. “But you still made a promise?” A small part of him was saying stop acting like a prat, that he was tired, had just faced Death Eaters, that Natasha had given _him_ the enchanted stone, not Bill. Called for him first. But the larger part was yelling, that it had taken six years for him to finally be able to say the words out loud, and they still weren’t even to Natasha.

Six years of practicing in a mirror, of writing it down in a letter, crossing it out, screwing it up and trying again. Six years of watching her come and go in his life, where he could feel the words, _will you marry me_ , sit, right in the centre of his chest, unable to make it past his lips. 

“Charlie,” Natasha speaks again, softer this time. No more tears. “We promised each other, that if we weren’t married by the time we were thirty, we would just marry each other. Joked it was for tax benefits when we were older. But Bill found Fleur several years later… and I found _you_.”

She’s looking at him, trying to find his eyes. “I love _you_ , Charlie Weasley, you absolute idiot. And if you don’t propose to me right now, after everything we’ve been through tonight alone, I will never speak to you again.” Natasha ends with a smile on her face, that’s equal parts tired and teasing. 

“I—”

“This is the part where you ask her to marry you,” Bill whispers far too loudly, and Charlie had almost forgotten he was still in the room.

“Shut up.” 

Shifting, Charlie puts his drink on the ground, and gets down on one knee. Nearly trips on the blanket in the process, finds nothing in his pockets that would do, but takes her hand anyway. It’s there, he thinks, that he finds her amused smile, messy hair and tired eyes beautiful. “Natasha,” he starts, stops. Swallows. Six years. Six years to get to this point, to find the perfect words, the perfect time. And yet he had nothing of the sort, except beaten and torn clothes, a storm outside, and sheer willpower alone.

Stuff it. If he tried to perfect it anymore, he would miss the moment forever. “Will you marry me?”


End file.
